


Calculated Use of the Flight Service Bell

by Spookbeetle



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Airplane Sex, Birthday Sex, F/M, Martin's going to kill him, Mile High Club, Roleplay, Smut, but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 12:20:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19318057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spookbeetle/pseuds/Spookbeetle
Summary: Douglas gets a one-day promotion via his wife





	Calculated Use of the Flight Service Bell

**Author's Note:**

> I would bet rather a lot of money that Douglas has had sex in G-ERTI...  
> If you liked it, please let me know? Please?

‘You’ve brought me to- it sounds an awful lot like the airfield I come to every morning? Odd choice, darling. Most people pick the ritz or something. Although, I do admit you’re pretty dead-on with the surprise part of the birthday surprise.’  
‘Do shut up, Douglas’  
Helena unlocks G-ERTI’s door and pressed her husband inside.  
‘How’d you get the keys? How, as a matter of fact, did you get permission for any of this?’  
‘I checked your schedule to see if you were flying and stole the keys from her glove compartment when she came by chastise you for that thing on Sunday. Now, sit down.’  
‘Thank you ever so, dear heart, for the permission to sit in my own chair. Happy birthday to me.’  
‘Ah, but this isn’t your chair, is it? It’s Martin’s.’  
‘No, this is the- oh bugger, when’d you figure it out?’  
‘The other day, your charming steward called me on the phone. It took him about 30 seconds to let that one slip- coincidentally, I also now know far too much about the girl he’s seeing. Apparently, she’s-‘  
‘Let me guess, brilliant.’  
‘Yes. Good boy. Now, how are you finding this glorious chair, Douglas?’  
‘It’s structurally the same as mine- but I can feel the self-importance bubbling in my chest like a fountain. It’s surprising Martin hasn’t crowned himself high king of the flight deck by now, astride such a beacon of leathery power. Can I take this damn blindfold off yet?’  
‘No.’  
He feels the soft pressure of his wife’s hand on his shoulder lift and then the click of the door.  
‘Darling? … Helena? HELENA?’  
No response. He takes off the blindfold- everything looks the same, no banners or balloons. Then he gets up and tries to open the cabin door. It’s locked.  
‘Love, this isn’t funny anymore. Let me out.’  
He can’t hear her moving about.  
‘Hel… Please?’  
Still silence. He sits down heavily in the captain’s chair and drums his fingers across the altimeters. Then he rings the flight deck service bell. 

After a moment, the door lock clicks.  
‘Darling, what in the seventh- oh. Ah-hah.’  
Helena is dressed in the navy waistcoat and pencil skirt of a stewardess.  
‘You rang, Captain Richardson?’  
He smiles broadly at her, taking Martin’s cap from where it sits and settling it onto his head.  
‘Yes. You see, I find myself in need of some… service.’  
‘Captain, I am, as ever, your humblest of servants. How may I be of use?’  
She really does look fantastic, crisp white shirt bursting open at the waistcoat’s fastening to reveal inches of delicate skin, dark hair in a neat French braid, gold-rimmed glasses resting coquettishly on her nose.  
‘Wonderfully enterprising attitude of you. I seem to need you to check the state of the gyroscopic instruments right here.’  
‘Would Sir care to move so I may get access to them?’  
‘I’m terribly afraid Sir would. You’ll just have to squeeze in.’  
She raises her eyebrows at him coolly, but meets the challenge, coming forward to stand awkwardly in between his legs. She bends forward, reading the dials. Her skirt pulls tight over her spectacular rear. Unable to help himself, he traces a finger slowly over the curve. She immediately straightens and turns to face him.  
‘Captain! I am trying to perform my duties!’  
‘Let me put you at rest that I would never- never- get in the way of a woman’s performance. I merely was smoothing away an unsightly crease.’  
‘Of course. I wouldn’t want to appear unsightly.’  
‘Oh, my sweet girl, I assure you that it would be a challenge to appear any more sightly than you do at this moment.’  
With that, he runs his fingers along the backs of her legs, eventually pressing his large hands into the backs of her knees so she ends up kneeling on the edge of the seat between his thighs. He presses a kiss to the swell of her breast, then moves an arm to her lower back and swings her so she’s sitting side-saddle in his lap.  
‘You are a credit to your profession, miss.’  
He kisses her firmly, her arms coming up around his neck. He has one hand in her hair and the other skirting her hemline, inching up her inner thigh. She whimpers quietly against his mouth and her teeth graze his lip. She squirms delectably against him and he has to bite back a groan.  
‘Oh, Captain? It would appear that there is a rising matter that needs attending to.’  
‘It rather does. See that the matter is rectified’

She slips nimbly off his lap and kneels on the floor looking up at him, every inch the enterprising vixen. Then she takes the zipper of his trousers in her nails and drags it slowly- too slowly- down. She pauses a moment to cup him through his boxers, enjoying the shape. He hums helplessly in the back of his throat. She smirks and pulls the waistband, freeing him. Her hand is on him at once, caressing the delicate skin, guiding him into the heat of her mouth. She takes him in and he groans.  
‘Oh- god, Hel-‘  
She hums in response; he swears he can feel her vocal chords vibrate. She works steadily, diligently, breathing softly through her nose, and it’s a real challenge for him to stop himself from putting a hand on the back of her head. Just when his noises start to turn high and pleading, she comes off with an embarrassing sound, lathing her tongue gently over the tip. Then she stands in front of him, looking him straight in the eye, lashes lowered. After a gasping moment where he can’t remember how to move his arms, he drags the bottom of her skirt up over her hips. She’s wearing black lace underwear. He thumbs the edge of the fabric appreciatively as she unbuttons her waistcoat and slides it off. Looking up, he takes the centre of her shirt and, waiting a beat, rips it open with all the force he can. He hears the buttons explode onto the deck floor. She puts her thumbs through the sides of her underwear and pulls it off her legs in a smooth motion. He watches her, staring at the lilting curves, the dark beautiful patch of hair. Then she climbs astride him, puts her hands on his shoulders, and sinks slowly down.  
He hisses slowly and presses hot kisses to the line of her neck, her shoulders, her breasts. Her mouth is loosely parted and her eyes are half-closed; she’s never looked more beautiful, he thinks to himself. She uses her position and her thighs to press back up and go down again, and again, setting a slow rhythm. He reaches a hand around and deftly undoes her bra and she lifts her arms out so it can be removed. He cups the warm flesh softly, watching it sway as she moves, then brings his hands down to her ass. She presses herself into him and he feels the warm weight of her chest, wishing he had his shirt off. One of her hands pets at the soft curls at the back of his neck. When they’re both gasping, he puts his hands around her waist and lifts her up, standing himself. Seeing what he means to do, she spins and leans over the control panel and he thrusts back into her. They go faster this time and the deck is full of the sounds of skin on skin and she’s crying out, and he very nearly is too, and when he reaches around to touch her she starts mumbling near-incomprehensible pleas-  
‘Douglas, oh, god, please, I- can you- Dou-glas- fuck, oh, fuck, faster-‘  
She comes quickly, tensing around him, and now he’s bearing her weight, her legs have given out, and he pulls her against him and-  
He shouts hoarsely something that might have been her name and shudders against her. Then he falls back into the chair, holding her waist to him. It’s several minutes until either one speaks.

‘Happy birthday, Captain.’  
‘Isn’t it just.’  
‘Surprising enough for you?’  
‘Oh, darling, I wouldn’t care if I never got surprised again as long as we can do this again next year.’  
‘Mm. It was a rather bright idea of mine, wasn’t it?’  
‘You’ve not had brighter- not since you decided to marry me, anyway.’  
‘I don’t think you should tell poor Martin about what we did to his chair.’  
‘No. I think I’ll save up this little gem until he starts to really get on my nerves.’  
‘That hat really does look so perfectly right on your head.’  
‘It does, doesn’t it? Such a waste.’  
‘And is the Captain confident I can supply adequate service?’  
‘An assessment like that takes thorough inspection- give me twenty minutes and we’ll assess your skills in the fuselage.’


End file.
